


After All

by paleolithic_demitasse



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Year's Eve, Post-Episode: s01e05 Small Worlds, Post-Episode: s01e07 Greeks Bearing Gifts, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paleolithic_demitasse/pseuds/paleolithic_demitasse
Summary: After all, family was where you found it.Team Torchwood 3 are a family, and family manifests itself in a number of different ways.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This a gift for the wonderful [warlockinatardis](http://warlockinatardis.tumblr.com/) for the We Are Torchwood Holiday Gift Exchange! Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Happy New Year, and may it be a good one!

**\- One -**

No one was hungry. Two pizzas, the usual, one margarita and one pepperoni, lay in their boxes, untouched. Jack had marched straight to his office, and presumably disappeared into his bunk if his tell-tale silhouette (or more specifically, current lack thereof) was anything to go by. The thought occurred to Ianto that he might stay there for hours, if not longer. Jack in a bad mood was inscrutable, which meant bad news for everyone.

The other three looked awful. Along with various guns and gadgets, they had brought back with them a terrible aura of dread, cold and practically tangible. It lay palpable, thick, over their heads, a physical presence heavier than the silence of the Hub. No one spoke, as if they could hold the weight of worlds and of words better left unsaid upon their shoulders if only they refused to acknowledge them. They were all tense, eyes looking anywhere but at each other, hands in pockets or in balled up fists. Someone was going to snap.

They didn’t tell Ianto what had happened. Not at first, anyway. Tosh sat down on the sofa, crossing her arms across her body as she examined the floor, and Owen stood next to her, leaning against the wall, eyes fixed on the other side of the Hub as though he were looking for something there, or avoiding something closer by. Meanwhile, Gwen thundered into the Hub, and was pacing back and forth in front of the others. She had air of a storm about her. Ianto sat down next to Tosh and bit back the words of curiosity that threated to fall out of his mouth; he had kept it shut for long enough to know that there was a time and a place for talking to someone who had made their mind up about how something was. Gwen was the first to speak, of course she was, and she was furious. It was a controlled anger, a fury betrayed only by the shaking of her hands as she spoke and a dangerous edge to her voice.

_We can all agree that what he did was wrong._

The words cut through the silence, a steel blade of conviction. It wasn’t a question. Gwen had stopped pacing. Owen’s head turned sharply to glare at her. Tosh continued to look at the floor. Ianto’s gaze fell once again upon Jack’s unoccupied office. The slight quiver in Gwen’s voice told him all he needed to know about who they were angry at. Suddenly, irrationally, Ianto felt his own anger at Jack flaring with a force that nearly frightened him. The logical, thinking, seeing part of him knew that what Jack did, he did for a reason that usually involved protecting other people. Still, it was easy to forget that kind of thing when you had been on the other end of that equation, the problem side.

Silently hoping that no one would answer him, Ianto steeled himself. _What did he do?_ There was an implicit ‘this time’ at the end of that question. No one wanted to speak. No one would even look at him. A mumbled answer from beside him reached his ears, perhaps more for her sake than Ianto’s. _What he had to._ Tosh gripped her hands together in her lap, clearly expecting a contradiction from someone. To Ianto’s surprise, Owen nodded, staring blankly at the water tower. Gwen took a deep breath, glanced towards Jack’s office, and said nothing.

 _He didn’t have a choice. There was no other way._ Owen sounded like he was trying to convince himself. _If he hadn’t, the rest of us, all of us, would be dead. Simple as that._

Ianto couldn’t help but question whether that was a better option than a world where the line between person and monster was so blurred that they became one and the same and suddenly it was easy to do terrible things in the name of a good cause. This was the worst possible outcome to any situation Torchwood had to deal with: when, in the end, the damage was done and it was somehow their fault. That was the truth hidden beneath the surface of Gwen’s rage, Tosh’s shock, Owen’s irritation. Guilt, masked by emotions that were easier to deal with and easier to throw at other people.

Nothing new, then.

The pizzas must have gone cold by now, Ianto considered absentmindedly.

After a few moments of silence crowded by thoughts Ianto knew nothing about, Tosh spoke again. _It started with the little girl, Jasmine…_

Tosh got quiet describing the attack on the party. Owen carried on for her. When he got to the choice that they, that Jack, had had to make, Gwen added bits that Owen forget, and Tosh tried to provide context they had missed out. Ianto listened, trying not to think, trying not to judge.

_Oh._

No work was done for the rest of that day. While Gwen pretended to go look for something in the archives (Ianto knew better than to offer his assistance when it clearly wasn’t paperwork she was looking for; he could recognise a person looking for a quiet place when he saw one), Tosh and Owen stared at their computers, and, in a nearly absurd reversal of roles, the latter cleared his recycled files and reorganised his desktop as the former opened a game of Tetris. Jack reappeared once, to tell the team that they were free to go after six, which was early for them and uncharacteristically professional of Jack, meaning only one thing. It wasn’t an offer. Ianto threw away the pizza after everyone left. Their heaviness had been infectious and he’d lost his appetite.

_Ianto._

Jack said his name differently to everyone else. He tended to drawl the first syllable of his name, making it sound like it began with a ‘y’ rather than an ‘i’. Ianto was sure it was another one of Jack’s confusing Americanisms that had somehow survived who knew how many years in Cardiff. Still, he spun around at the sound of his name.

_Yes, sir?_

It was only them in the Hub, but Ianto was too used to wearing his stone-faced all-business persona around Jack to be comfortable dropping the act, even when they were alone. Jack, too, looked hesitant, or at least more so than usual.

_Look, I— I guess the others told you what I did, huh?_

_They did._

_Well, I dunno what you told them, but, uh… thank you._

_What do you mean, sir?_

_I mean, Ianto, that before they went home, Tosh and Gwen came into my office separately to tell me that they understood why I did what I’d done, and Owen sent me a text saying pretty much the same thing. Now, you weren’t there on the ride back here, so let me tell you: I honestly wasn’t sure when, if ever, they’d get over this._ (From the slight tremble in his voice, Ianto could tell Jack wasn’t sure if he was going to forgive himself either.) _I mean, I know they haven’t forgiven me, I can tell they’re still angry and hurt, of course they are, but it makes it kinda easier knowing that they don’t hate me for it._

No one can hate you properly, not when they know you well enough, thought Ianto to himself.

_I know I’m your boss and their boss and I really shouldn’t be questioning my own decisions in front of an employee, but… This kind of thing never gets any easier. So, thank you._

_Look, Jack, I didn’t— well, I didn’t actually say anything._

_What?_

_I didn’t say anything to them. I asked what happened, and they told me. They took it in turns, and they told me. Believe me, it was by no means an objective account, but I think that might be why they were ready to talk to you. Maybe it was just a matter of getting it out there._

Neither said anything for a moment, only half believing what Ianto had said.

_Maybe. But in any case, I appreciate it._

_Anytime. Oh, and Jack?_

_Mm-hm?_

_If you ever need, I don’t know, someone to talk to, someone to listen…_

_Thanks, Ianto._

_It might help. That’s all I’m saying._

_... Yeah._

With that said, Ianto suddenly felt awkward standing around. He was tired, he wanted to go home. Clearing his throat, Ianto said goodnight to his boss.  
He turned to leave the Hub. Three strides towards the exit, Ianto shook his head and walked back into Jack’s office, catching the man by the arm and turning him so that he was facing Ianto. He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind went blank as he saw Jack’s face. Something between guilt and grief was twisting his features into an expression of the likes of which Ianto had only seen in Jack’s rage on the night with Lisa. (Ianto tried not to think about it. It didn’t work very well.) Jack was clearly in pain, and Ianto was at a loss.

 _Jack_ , he tried softly, _it wasn’t your fault._

The only response was a wistful, unconvinced smile.

 _I know I wasn’t there, and this isn’t really my business, but for what it’s worth…_ Ianto trailed off. He took a breath, looking Jack in the eye. _I forgive you._

Something broke. Jack’s eyes shut as he pulled Ianto into a firm embrace, arms wrapped around his back, a sinking man grasping the only life line thrown at him. Ianto froze. He hadn’t expected this reaction. Polite gratitude, maybe, nonchalance, or even anger. But not this. He tried to relax, returning the hug as best he could. Jack was shaking in his arms. After a moment, Jack broke the contact.

 _And I’m not the only one, you know._ Ianto wasn’t sure if the words were entirely true, but if they were what Jack needed, so be it.

_I hope so._

Clearing his throat, Ianto nodded briskly, trying for a genuine smile. Jack seemed convinced enough, a small smile gracing his face.

Ianto left through the cog door, unwilling to look back, desperately trying to quiet his mind. He walked home, thinking of nothing.

 

**\- Two -**

 

The worst part was that they had tried to do it one by one. It would have been a lot easier and a lot faster if they had just sat her down and talked to her as a group, but Tosh got the distinct impression that everyone felt awkward enough trying to reach out on their own accounts.

It had been a week since Mary had died.

Admittedly, Mary hadn’t really been Mary, but in Tosh’s mind, she’d lived and died with the name of the woman she’d been blind enough to- well. She wasn’t quite sure. Kiss, yes. Sleep with, yes. Trust, unfortunately. It was the rest of it that was more complicated.

Tosh wasn’t a romantic, and she liked to think that she saw people the way they were. Lately, the world had been proving her wrong. Maybe it had been the locket, the ability to hear the disjointed thoughts of the world going by, that made her question how much she really knew about people, familiar faces and strangers alike. Maybe it had been Mary’s true nature, and how easily Tosh had fallen into her trap. Maybe it was just growing resentment at a life that seemed to take more than it gave.

Over the last few days, everyone on the team had tried to give her their own version of the sorry-your-evil-alien-girlfriend-died sympathy talk, for whatever that was worth. First Gwen, almost apologizing for things she was almost sorry for. She had been right about the moral high ground though: this time, it didn’t belong to anybody. What she’d said, _love suited you_ ; had struck a chord too deep for Tosh’s liking. Still. She’d appreciated the gesture.

Tosh had been doing a lot of thinking recently about people after Mary, but even before she found out who – what – Mary really was, Tosh had been finding herself re-evaluating all the important relationships in her life.

Her teammates, who apparently didn’t trust her or like her enough to tell her about what they really thought of her. Some of their words, their thoughts, had stung more than Mary’s betrayal, because they were meant to be on her side, no matter what. It hurt. It would have been so much easier never knowing, living in blissful ignorance of their hidden truths. She only felt worse when Tosh remembered that she couldn’t even blame them for it: it was her fault for invading their thoughts in the first place. Shame rose up through her whenever she thought about it. Guilt was shackled to her ankles, and the weight of dragging it around wherever she went was exhausting.

Then there were her parents, or at least the memory of them, who had hated the person she’d hidden within herself to make them happy. They hadn’t been cruel people, and they hadn’t been bad parents. They just hadn’t been ready for the possibility that their daughter might not fit the plan for the ideal child they had each had in mind. All her life, they’d try not to show it, but it always seeped through, like ink bleeding through paper when you press down too hard with a pen you forget you’re holding. A disappointed glance here, a half-hearted congratulations there. It was the little things that piled up to become big things that became impossible to brush off. They would never have understood, much less accepted, this, whatever this was. Had been.

Tosh herself had been confused when she’d begun to take an interest in Mary. She’d never thought too deeply about her sexuality, and when she did, it was usually to reassure herself that it didn’t matter anyway because there was work to do and more important things to focus on. That didn’t stop her from looking up once in a while. Passing fancies and silent pining had been the sad majority of her love life, and the people she felt that kind of thing towards were few and far between. Sometimes it had been a man, sometimes it had been a woman, but never too much and never too long. There were a few exceptions. Owen, of course. Tommy, maybe. Mary… probably.

Jack had had his turn, and the obligatory conversation had been in the evening of the day of Mary’s death. (It took a lot of effort to think ‘death’ instead of ‘murder’.) It had helped, destroying the locket. Tosh hadn’t been exaggerating when she called it a curse. Jack had been understanding enough, but the whole thing had felt like a test. She’d gotten the answer correct, made the right choice, redeemed herself in his eyes. At least Jack had seemed genuinely empathetic and maybe even a little regretful for what had happened. Not that he’d had much choice, either.

The whole world had been bleaker since then. Decisions felt less important, work felt less pressing. The team had given her space, but the furtive glances and hushed conversations when they thought she was out of earshot told Tosh everything she needed to know. They were worried, but they felt too bad for her to talk about it. Typical.

Tosh hadn’t left her flat apart from to go to work since Mary. It was too weird to be a large crowd of people after the experience of hearing the symphony of thought that she had almost grown accustomed to while she had the locket. The silence was truly deafening.

The day after, Ianto had come over to her desk with tea and biscuits and sat down, quiet as ever. They’d sipped their tea and talked about the weather. Tosh had felt a bit better, a bit more alive, afterwards. The normalcy had been comforting.

She’d gone out to get groceries later that day, partially out of necessity, but partially because the pieces were beginning to fall back into place in the way Tosh saw the world. The locket may have destroyed and rebuilt anew her perception of the people around her, but they weren’t any different to before she’d begun to listen in on their thoughts. The only difference was Tosh, which was both calming and terrifying. The world was the same, but she was alone in what she’d experienced and it was too difficult to find the right words to talk about it with anyone else. That loneliness only grew when she thought about Mary.

Owen had waited longer than the others to talk to her. Earlier today, he’d stopped her on her way out of the Hub in the evening. _Tosh_ , he’d begun, and Tosh had braced herself, immediately recognising the tone of voice he was using. It was the one he used when talking to people who had seen or been through awful things, the witnesses and the widows, who had to be treated like glass lest they shatter before Owen had finished asking questions.

 _Look, I—_ Owen didn’t want to be doing this.

 _Owen, it’s fine. I’m fine._ She’d flashed him a quick smile that utterly failed to be convincing.

_Uh, not really. Tosh, I know you, and you haven’t been you, which I completely understand, but I just want you to know that—_

Same speech, same sympathy.

 _Yeah, you’re here for me, etcetera, thanks, Owen, I get it._ He’d looked annoyed at that.

 _I was going to say…_ he’d paused, eyes averted. _I’m sorry. About what I said, you know, about that stuff you heard. I was being a prick, and yeah, maybe it makes me an even bigger prick to only be admitting it because I feel bad that you lost someone you cared about, but—_ He cut off. _Well. Yeah. I’m here. And no matter what you heard, I’m on your side._

Her stomach had twisted into knots, the old feelings rushing back to the surface. She’d smiled before he could see her panic. _Thanks, Owen._ Shit, she’d thought.

 _Sure._ He’d shrugged. Moment over.

Tosh had taken the long way home, walking along the bay, gazing over the water. The sunset was far from spectacular, but it was nice to do something as normal as to watch the sun disappear below the horizon. At one point, she’d sat down on a bench, intent on watching people walk by without trying to figure out what they were thinking.

And here she still was, not thinking about it.

The crowds had thinned as the evening dragged on. Now, the sounds of the city and the water were all she heard. Eventually, when night fell and only the occasional jogger passed her by, Tosh stood up and started home, listening to the muted traffic and snatched pieces of hushed conversations.

 _Good evening._ A passer-by greeted her. Tosh smiled back at them. _Nice night, huh?_ They’d nodded, and then they were gone. It’s the small comforts, she thought. The remnants of a soft smile followed her home.

 

**\- Three -**

 

Being dead was like trying to remember a half-forgotten dream. Everything was blurry, and there was no tangible memory or sensation, just the echoes of a feeling that was impossible to identify or describe. Nothing made sense, and thoughts came and went unbidden like a feverish nightmare. It was hell.

Jack was dead far too often for his liking. Sometimes it was his fault, usually it wasn’t (or so he chose to believe), but there was no denying that it was a recurring problem. No wonder people are so scared to die, he’d sometimes think to himself after waking up.

It was dark and yet blinding. Like trying to look for a picture on the back of closed eyelids, whatever he experienced when he died was not truly visual. Not that he could touch, see, smell, hear or otherwise sense what was going on. One moment he was dying, often painfully, and then the next he wasn’t. Dying, that was. He was definitely still in pain.

He could feel it was starting. The draw, the urging him back to life. Like swimming towards the surface after diving into deep water. Like being dragged over a bed of nails. The push and pull of life and death, a tug-of-war over not just his body but his entire being. And it pulled him closer and closer and closer and—

—like an eternity had passed alone in the darkness—

—like it had been no time at all—

—Jack gasped as his eyes flew open and his lungs filled with breath and he was alive once more. The first thing he felt beyond the aching in his chest was the comforting grip of familiar arms around him. Ianto, he knew. Chest heaving, he leaned into man holding him.

As usual, Jack’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. He was back in the Hub; he’d been somewhere else when he died, but that didn’t matter right now, it would come back to him; lying on the autopsy table of the mortuary-cum-medbay. They must have carried his body there from the SUV. The gesture made up for the feeling of cold metal pressing against his back. (This table was made for the dying and the deceased, not the recently resurrected.) So did the looks of relief on the faces on his teammates, who were staring down at him from various angles. Tosh and Owen were now making their way down from the ledge above the medbay and Gwen stood up from on the stairs below them, while Ianto sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to Jack, one arm protectively around his chest and the other holding his head. Usually, it was only him who waited around for Jack to come back if it wasn’t immediately important. Had something happened?

_Oh thank God—_

_Jack, you’re back—_

_Finally! You really took—_

_What were you thinking, going after an alien we know nothing about—_

It was hard to make out which voice belonged to whom.

_—we were getting worried!_

(Relieved and concerned and angry and happy: Gwen.)

_—oh, you’re back, okay, you’re okay._

(Tosh, bless her, reassuring both of them he was alright.)

_— your time with this one, mate._

(Snide, so Owen, but more concerned than usual.)

_—expect that it killed an entire village with a stray drop of poisonous saliva?_

(Ianto, worrying about the man who couldn’t die.) 

Oh. Of course. Jack remembered the beginning: a whole town, suddenly gone, something in the water, they said. They’d known almost immediately what it was. An alien that had fallen through the Rift a week ago that they hadn’t been able to find and had escaped to the countryside. Tracking it down had been absolute torture. Then later, the action: shouting something into his earpiece, racing down an alleyway, hitting the ground as the creature jumped out at him, probably in self-defence. The last thing he’d felt was its claws ripping into his insides. He shivered involuntarily.

 _Hey, don’t worry about it, I’m sure I was just working the poison out of my system at a leisurely pace. You know nothing can keep me down forever._ No one looked convinced. Placated, sure, but not reassured. _You were gone longer than usual_ , offered Tosh, _and we were beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong…_ she didn’t seem eager to finish that thought, but judging by the expressions on the others’ faces, they were all ending her sentence in their own grim ways inside their heads.

Apparently he’d struck a nerve somewhere. Anxious, knowing glances were being exchanged all around. _What, have I missed something?_ Fear, masked by irritation, clouded Jack’s voice. _Jack, it’s been four days since the incident with the alien._ Ah. So they’d killed it, then. Torchwood didn’t tend to use the word ‘incident’ for a situation where no one got hurt. Or maybe he was the incident.

 _Still, doesn’t mean you can use my death as an excuse to slack off_ – Jack tried to joke; too often, it felt like all he had left in the face of death and inevitable revival was whatever remained of his sense of humour – _has anyone done any work since we got back here?_

Gwen laughed half-heartedly, and Tosh tried for a smile, but he could tell the remark had fallen flat. _We’re just glad to see you up._ Owen sounded uncharacteristically sincere. Ianto said nothing.

His team trickled out of the med bay one by one, hopefully to find something more productive than worry about him to do. Each came to say their own hellos before walking off. Gwen enveloped him in a tight hug; Jack hid his pained wince under an affectionate chuckle. Tosh held his hand in her own for a moment, as if to welcome him back to the world of the living with an invitational handshake. Owen gave him a quick pat on the shoulder and a thumbs up. All the while, Ianto said nothing, silently tracing words onto his arm. (Hello.) He started again at Jack’s wrist. (Missed you.) It was a little ticklish. (Be careful.) Jack concentrated on making out the letters. (Good you’re back.) He sighed, caught somewhere between affection and melancholy, taking Ianto’s hand into both of his own. Oh, Ianto. He worried, he always worried. _I’ll always come back to you._ Ianto gave him a sad smile, as if to say ‘if you say so’. Jack grasped his hand, bringing it to his lips in a silent plea for Ianto to trust him. Ianto cupped his face with his free hand. Jack smiled.

Jack swung his legs over the side of the autopsy table, body back in the world of the living but mind still elsewhere. It was strange to have people by his side when this happened, he’d been used to dealing with death and the rest of it all for so long. Ianto helped him up. All of a sudden, it dawned on him that he was wearing a clean shirt, not whatever bloody tatters of clothes his team had no doubt found him lying in. He probably had Ianto to thank for that, too. Jack absently wondered who had carried him back to the car. Most likely Owen and Gwen, perhaps with Ianto’s help. How long had they wait for him to revive before beginning the journey to Cardiff? The drive back must have been at least a little unpleasant, with a dead body either in the boot or on the backseat, he wasn’t sure what they’d done. Knowing them, there’d surely been an argument about that somewhere along the line.

Owen had suggested he take it slow, so Jack took a couple of tentative steps forwards. H nearly tripped over his own feet. Ianto immediately rushed to his side to steady him. The last team he’d been on (Alex, James, names he’d nearly forgotten since that night nine years ago) had been so different, so focused on the work, so consumed by it. Not that that was a curse his own team had been immune to, but after all these years, the Hub finally felt less like a workplace and more like a home. Or maybe he needed to get out more.

Gwen had come back to help him up the stairs. One arm around her shoulders and the other around Ianto’s, the three of them made their slow and awkward way up the steps into the main landing. Before Torchwood, Jack had had no ambitions or desire to do anything but wait around for the Doctor to show up. He’d kept his hopes alive by taking to the bottle – he’d made a spectacular drunkard. That was, until his tolerance for alcohol wore off and he had to literally drink himself to death to start again at square one. Looking back, Jack wasn’t particularly proud of all the choices he’d made at the time, but there was nothing to be done now but try to do better.

Tosh came over to him and began to summarize what little had happened over the past few days as he limped towards his office. Ianto and Gwen gave him space to restore lost dignity. In truth, Jack had just been glad for their help. He sat down at his desk, smiled at Tosh when she’d finished and poured himself a glass of whiskey when she’d left. Now and again, he wondered what his family would think had they known what would become of him. The parents he’d lost, the brother he’d given up on. Would they be proud to see what good he’d managed to do with his life, or disappointed with the mistakes he’d made? Usually, Jack found it best not to think about these things, but he was in a mood for reminiscing. It was extremely difficult to remember back to the sandy days of Boeshane Peninsula, but he could remember snippets. A hand on his shoulder here, a loving glance there. The feeling of laughter bubbling in his stomach as he chased someone along a shoreline. Not concrete memories, just the afterimages of something he would never know again. Then again. Maybe not. After all, family was where you found it.

Jack looked around at his team.

He’d found it.

 

**\- Afterwards -**

 

_One last round!_

Champagne was passed around, flutes were refilled, and people who should only be drinking two or three glasses were moving on to fourths and fifths. They were all piled into Gwen and Rhys’ flat (it had been unanimously decided that they needed a break from the Hub), making merriment and a mess of confetti and streamers.

 _Do you lot do this every year, then?_ asked Rhys the room. _Uh, not exactly…_ began Tosh. _We’ve usually got other priorities_ , Jack deflected diplomatically. No one mentioned that the reason for this was that Jack refused to celebrate New Year’s, for reasons he never cared to specify. No one had ever cared to argue. Normally, everyone just buggered off to whatever life they had outside Torchwood for a night and didn’t talk about it the next day when, inevitably, they were called back to work.

This year had been different, though. They had survived so much together, and old wounds were finally beginning to heal over. That had felt like a cause for celebration.

 _Well, we’re here now_ , insisted Gwen with finality. Jack smiled. She was right. _About time, too_ , muttered Owen. Ianto smacked his shoulder as he leaned over to refill Owen’s glass. _One minute left!_ announced Tosh, checking her phone.

It felt like a real New Year’s Eve. Everything about the atmosphere was just right. The music (a mix of Jack’s older taste and Gwen’s electro-pop fancies), the decorations (Ianto and Tosh had arrived earlier armed with dozens of multi-coloured balloons), even the booze (procured by Owen and Rhys on a joint shopping trip, of course) had been had been a team effort if there’d ever been one.

 _Thirty seconds…_ Tosh warned them, excitement creeping into her voice. The group got up to gather around her. Jack threw his arms around the people nearest him, drawing Ianto and Owen to his side. The latter was resting one hand on Tosh’s shoulder, who smiled up at him, then at Gwen, wrapped in a bear hug from Rhys.

 _Here we go!_ Laughing and jostling each other about, the countdown began.

_Three!_

_Two!_

_One!_

_HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

Cheers and whoops filled the small flat. Celebration was in the air, and new beginnings were afoot. Unable to help himself, Jack pulled Ianto into an indulgent kiss that went on for a long moment as Gwen laughed at them (before being interrupted by Rhys pulling her in for a snog of their own) and Owen groaned. Tosh shook her head fondly, grabbing Owen by the front of his shirt and planting a kiss on his lips. _Wouldn’t want you to feel left out, now would we?_ She laughed, face red from the champagne. Owen blushed.

Numerous hugs, clinks and toasts later, the group sat down again as Jack regaled them with the sentiment he’d become sick of keeping to himself.

 _May twenty-ten bring considerably nicer things and fewer planet-threatening aliens than last year_ , Jack smiled at the group.

 _Don’t jinx it!_ Owen shouted from the behind him. Everyone laughed.

 _I’ll drink to that_ , announced Gwen, raising her glass to the room.

 _Which bit?_ Ianto asked jokingly, ignoring Jack’s snort of laughter and Owen’s glare.

 _Oh, both, I should think_ , Gwen replied with exaggerated seriousness. She winked clumsily at Ianto. Rhys shot him a look that Ianto pretended not to see.  
Tosh giggled at the exchange. Owen used the arm not draped over Tosh’s shoulders to nudge her in false irritation. She giggled some more and Owen masked his own smile.

For better or for worse, for whatever was to come next, they were happy and ready to face the future. Having your family around you made that kind of thing significantly easier. The world would keep on spinning, throwing danger after danger at them, but they would endure.

There was a feel about it in the air. It was going to be a wonderful year.


End file.
